


Alone On The Ice

by goldenzingy46



Series: Tomarry Works [18]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Skating, Drama, Fluff, Ice Skating, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Olympics, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Romance, Skating, The Devil (Tom) Wears Prada, Winter Olympics, alternate universe - figure skating, ao3: sorry this is not a tag we will remove your caps, figure skating, soft gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:15:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28507305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenzingy46/pseuds/goldenzingy46
Summary: Tom Riddle, a perfectionist figure skater, who can never get more than a silver medal.Harry Potter, who started skating for fun, but is now a professional skater.Two rivals. Two idiots. Two gays.(Wow! A soft gay ice skating AU, where did this come from?)
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Series: Tomarry Works [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2091711
Comments: 64
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsevanffs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsevanffs/gifts).



There had probably been a time when the ice rink wasn’t Tom’s first priority, but it had been a long time ago.

Ever since he’d been a child, he’d always admired dancers. The way they twisted and turned, arms straight and graceful, toes pointed. He’d tried a few of the moves in his attic room of the orphanage, teaching himself in the chipped mirror until his feet bleed and he could barely stand.

Then they’d gone to the ice rink; a treat, they’d said, for the orphans. An anonymous grant had gone through and they finally had some money.

They hadn’t meant for him to become obsessed.

They hadn’t expected him to enjoy it more than murdering rabbits.

But he _did_ , and that’s the important part.

Once he’d learned to skate (it was easier than they’d made it seem), he didn’t just skate, he glided. He glided across the ice like he’d been born to skate, like he was flying. Truly, it felt like flying.

And Tom made them take him back. Again, and again, and again. Until the dance he’d perfected, on those long, lonely nights, echoed across the rink, the risk of falling meaning nothing to him when he was so close to a heaven of his own making.

And then he met his coach, and everything went uphill from there. Every move, every triple Axel, every Lutz, he practised to perfection. He knew his routines and he was in the competition to _win_.

And then he didn’t.

Silver. A goddamn silver medal.

_We’re sorry, Tom,_ they’d say, or sometimes _We’re sorry, Mr. Riddle_ , depending on how condescending they were feeling. _There just wasn’t enough emotion._

_You were like a robot._

_He knew the moves, sure, but he didn’t understand them._

What did emotion matter in a world full of movement? He’d been perfect. Flawless, even. But it hadn’t been enough for them.

It was never enough for them.

_You’re only seventeen,_ they’d say. _There’s still time_. Sometimes they meant to win the gold, other times they meant ‘find a better career’.

It didn’t matter to Tom. What these cretins thought didn’t matter. He would win, no matter how long it took.

His first step was to fire his coach and go in alone.

And alone he was, for four years, never winning any more or any less than a silver.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gay

Tom was practising his skating at night, as he always did, when he heard the sound of other people entering the rink.

It wasn’t that he’d booked the rink. He couldn’t do that here. It was just that he’d chosen a time when nobody else would be here and _three people_ turned up to take up _his_ space and _his_ time.

A scruffy haired man with ratty jeans, a ginger with a vacant expression, and a frizzy haired girl who struggled to stand.

 _Great._ He had to deal with idiots.

There was always a chance he could intimidate them away, as he normally did, with his crisp suits and sharp smiles.

Tom skated towards them, as elegantly as only Tom could, and said, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Or rather, good night.”

“Uh- hi?” The scruffy one said. “I’m surprised anyone else is out here.”

“So am I,” Tom replied. “None of you look like you’ve been here more than thrice.”

This made the ginger one look more than outraged. “Night is when I’m _always_ here, learning how to skate so I can support Harry properly.”

“In what?” he inquired. “Falling over?”

“How _dare you-”_

Cutting him off, Tom turned back to ‘Harry’. “Do you want one of those ‘learning to skate’ penguin supports?”

‘Harry’ smirked. “Sure.”

With that, he skated off.

Tom returned a few minutes later, fifteen pounds poorer but basking in the satisfaction of the ginger spluttering at the annoyingly cheerful looking penguin.

And that’s when he noticed.

That’s when he saw a dancer, beautiful in the complete lack of control he seemed to have over his own body, recklessly tipping himself into every spin and every jump, yet utterly captivating in every way.

Tom wanted to dance like that.

Tom was a _better_ dancer than that, every move he made perfect, pulled off without the slightest of hesitations, the choreography planned and practised and executed better than any other, yet he had none of the raw _emotion_ he saw in this piece, none of the thrill, the ability to snatch the breath away from the audience.

Where was the boy in tattered clothing and glasses?

Tom could only see the beauty in his dance, and he tore his eyes from it in fury, performing his own jumps and spins and elaborate footwork.

It wasn’t enough to know that he was better.

He had to beat _that._

Tom was part way through an Axel when Harry turned to leave.

“Ron, Hermione,” Harry called. “I think we ought to go.”

Tom didn’t fail, didn’t mess up, he was perfect, he always was, but he did adjust his routine to skate past the exit – only to make sure he was leaving, getting out of his way, not because he cared at _all_ – as they left, only for Harry to speak.

“Sorry for getting in your way,” he said. “I’ll come earlier, next time.”

 _So will I,_ Tom didn’t say.

He had the rink to himself, now. Even though it closed soon.

***

If anyone knew Tom well (nobody did), they’d know he spent all day at the skating rink, stopping only to eat, drink, and sleep. Through the busiest of times, he never went too far, never knowing when people would steal his routine, instead merely practising a few of the smaller spins, or some footwork. When it grew dark, and people were at home not freezing to death to perfect spins he’d already perfected, he shone.

Tom may have never gotten a gold, but he deserved the silvers he got.

His dance – his skating – was a masterpiece. The choreography was well-thought out, perfect for the music, and he never made a mistake. He would _never_ make a mistake with figure skating, not when he had come so far and sacrificed so much.

So, when Tom danced on the ice in the dark, he shone like a star. The adrenaline coursed through him as he leapt and turned and twisted, spinning up and up and pausing at the height before moving again and again and again, sharp and fast as an arrow, the rink a kingdom and Tom the conqueror, every movement planned and flawless.

No, Tom didn’t make mistakes with his skating.

Perhaps it was his night performance that had Harry so convinced he only came in during the day. But nonetheless, as Tom came back in after getting his lunch, there was Harry, putting on his skates in an extremely bizarre way that seemed to work nonetheless.

“Hey there!” a cheerful man said, standing next to Harry. “Do you need any help with your skates? They can be difficult for first-timers.”

And then Tom was standing next to him, saying, “He can clearly put his own skates on, and he is a competent skater. He doesn’t need your _help_.”

“Cedric Diggory,” the man – Cedric – held out a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Tom Riddle,” he responded, grasping the offered hand and shaking firmly. “And no, we have not. Shame it couldn’t stay that way.”

Cedric stared at him for a second, before shaking his head and setting out for the rink, leaving Tom alone with an extremely bemused Harry.

“What was _that_ all about?”

“I-” Tom floundered for a second. “I just wanted to apologise for how rude I was yesterday.”

He never apologised. Why was he breaking the streak for Harry?

“Oh!” Harry laughed. “No worries. Want to skate with me?”

 _No,_ Tom thought.

“Of course!” he said, offering Harry a hand up and walking towards the rink.

“Harry Potter,” he said, grasping his hand and squeaking when Tom didn’t stop. “I’m going to skate professionally, rather than for fun, as I usually do.”

Tom nearly stopped dead, only Harry’s innate gracefulness allowing him to glide past without crashing into him.

“You don’t skate professionally?”

Tom hated that he sounded so vulnerable. Of course he didn’t skate professionally, he couldn’t be any sloppier with his turns, although they were tidy enough not to _lose_ points.

So why did he wish Harry were just like him?

Harry grinned at him, smile too wide and far too trusting, and said, “I do now.”

Tom’s lips twitched, and he quashed the urge to smile. “You’re not going anywhere if we don’t start skating,” he said, and pushed off.

“Oi!” he heard and was unsurprised to see Harry catching up beside him. “Bet you can’t do a triple!”

 _Harry was going to regret that_ , Tom thought, effortlessly pulling into a triple jump, not missing his mark by a millimetre. _Perfect_.

He turned to see Harry pull off a matching one, with far more glee and with messier edges, but wonderful all the same.

Harry laughed. “Seems I won’t beat you in a competition with the moves, huh. How about a race?”

Tom’s eyes gleamed, and he _grinned_ , ready for the challenge, mouth twisting into an _‘O’_ as Harry darted past him, Tom in quick pursuit. They stayed fairly well matched the whole way, Tom cheating a few times with some underhanded grabs, but they reached the finish line at the precise same time, Harry adding in a dramatic twirl.

Tom _laughed_ , saying, “Your waist is very flexible, it seems.”

“Was that a _sex joke?”_ Harry choked.

“If I were making a _sex joke_ , as you put it, it would be the hips.”

They snorted.

“So, uh,” Harry said. “Are all professional skaters good at sex? Or just amateur ones?”

“Braggart.” Tom said affectionately, before adding, “Of course all the professional ones are absolutely brilliant.”

Harry elbowed him. “You would know, huh?”

Tom looked offended.

“Also,” Harry continued, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Good at sex, flexible?”

He nodded. “Fu-”

A kid wobbled past them.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t finish that sentence,” Harry murmured, eyes sparkling.

“Perhaps not.” Tom agreed. “Now, tell me about your companions.”

Skating a circle around Tom, he said, “Good god, you really are posh, huh? Prada, ‘companions’, what next?”

Tom shoved him, and Harry’s phone went off.

Harry grimaced. “Sorry, got to go.” He paused. “Meet you here tomorrow, nine-ish?”

“Morning or evening?”

“You mean you aren’t here all day?”

Tom laughed, surprised as he was to realise that he was enjoying himself. “Touché.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gayer

Harry was right about one thing, and that was that Tom was _always_ skating. It consumed his life. Wake up, get dressed, eat, skate, eat, skate, eat, skate, wash, sleep and repeat. He occasionally spoke to journalists ( _Mr Riddle, Mr Riddle, how do you feel about your eighth-ninth-tenth-eleventh silver? Tom! Tom! Do speak to us, you’ve gotten your twentieth-thirtieth silver, would you say you lack emotion? Are you bitter?)_ but they grew tiresome quickly.

Surely, they knew silver wasn’t good enough. Not for Tom Riddle.

Tom tended to leave the rink at eight to eat dinner, before returning precisely an hour later to continue skating. Today, he left half an hour earlier to ensure he was there in time for Harry.

He had to admit, he was curious about Harry. He didn’t seem like much, and his skating was messy and loose and everything Tom hated, but he was captivating in a way few others were. Something about him captured Tom’s eye, and Tom found he was quite unwilling to let go.

And on top of that, Harry humanised him. Tom had seen many people try, over the years, but they’d never succeeded. Exorcisms, friendliness, cruelty, they’d all yielded nothing but a cold smile and dead eyes. Yet Harry, sloppy turns and awkward smile, had gotten Tom to laugh – to joke! – like Tom was capable of that. Like Tom wasn’t the unfeeling monster who tried to fill the gap where emotions should be with perfect turns on the ice.

Tom wanted to hate it, but he (god save him) _liked_ Harry Potter, and enjoyed spending time with him.

And now Harry was tying up his laces and was coming to skate with Tom just to spend time with him.

***

Harry performed a spin, grinning the whole time. “Do you like it, your royal highness?”

Tom frowned. “You’re extremely sloppy when you turn,” he said. “How do you ever get points?”

“Well, some of the judges stare in horror, but apparently my passion makes up for it.” Harry replied. “Something to do with emotion.”

Tom swallowed, hurt. Did Harry know? Did Harry know why Tom had never gotten a gold?

Harry put a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched.

“Tom?” He seemed so genuinely concerned. “Tom, are you okay?”

“Yes.” He said, tone clipped. “I just— just thought that, maybe, you’d want to meet up during my lunch break tomorrow? I mean, I know you’re busy but…”

Tom trailed off as Harry hugged him.

“Of course I want to meet up, you _idiot_. Where were you thinking?”

“There’s a bakery I normally go to for lunch. What do you think?” Tom hated how he sounded so _weak_ , like he cared for other humans.

“Text me the details, I’ll meet you there.”

Tom released the breath he was holding all at once. “Great! Want to skate some more?”

“You _bet_.”

Tom skated forwards first, spinning around to watch Harry follow him.

“What if you fall?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow at Tom’s attire. “You’re wearing tight-cut Prada, are you not?”

Tom stared him down. “How _dare_ you imply I’ve ever fallen in my entire life; I could skate in a goddamn _kimono_ and I wouldn’t fall, how dare—”

Harry tripped him up and he fell flat on his face.

“You were saying?”

Tom spluttered, seizing Harry’s leg and pulling himself up and Harry down.

“Oi!”

“You started it,” Tom replied, brushing ice flakes off of his suit jacket. “And now my suit is wet.”

“You were basically asking for it.”

“How so?”

“You said you’d never fallen in your entire life.”

Tom blinked. “How does that correlate to ‘please trip me up’?”

Harry laughed, getting back onto his feet. “Pride comes before a fall, my dear Tom.”

_My dear._

Tom swallowed and pulled out his phone. “I don’t have your contact details. Mind inputting them?”

Harry took the phone, typing away. “I could very easily find every embarrassing photo you have on here; you know.”

“Bold of you to assume I have any.”

With a smirk, Harry draped his arm around him, and the flash went off, Tom undoubtably looking liked a deer in the headlights.

“Now you do.”

Tom pried his phone out of Harry’s grip, and said, “I suppose you want the photo?”

It was not the most flattering of photos, but a first selfie had to mean something, right?

(Tom was going to treasure it forever.)

“Of course.”

Tom flicked through his (admittedly short) list of contacts, pausing at one he hadn’t seen before.

_Skater Boy(friend)._

He choked.

Harry grinned up at him. “Funny, right?”

“Yeah.” He collected his thoughts. “Very funny.”

“I thought so.”

Tom sent the photo, internally wincing at his own startled expression. He really couldn’t have looked worse but—

Harry wanted the photo. Harry _took_ the photo. It was a photo of _Harry_.

Tom belatedly wondered if he could crop himself out the photo or send over more flattering one of himself.

Harry’s phone dinged, and Tom saw _Handsome Devil ;) sent a message_ appear on his screen.

He could feel his cheeks darkening, and he bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from saying anything. Harry Potter would be the _death_ of him, this insufferable boy.

Tom sent a string of his best pictures before he had time to regret it.

(Yes, he did need to send the shirtless one. He had reasons.)

He then looked at Harry, and immediately regretted it as he received an eyebrow wiggle for his trouble.

“Why are you a skater when you could be a model?” he asked, eyeing one of the photos he’d just received.

Tom was speechless. What did you even _say_ to that?

“I- uh. Maybe we should skate? We’re on a skate rink, after all, and it closes soon.”

“Aww, Tommy loves skating more than me.”

The shove Harry received was well deserved, in Tom’s opinion.

(Tom Riddle: master of deflection.)

Tom skated over to the edge, leaving his phone on the side. It was an admittedly dangerous move, but him and Harry were the only ones out skating this late and carrying his phone would ruin the line of his suit, which really isn’t worth it. Why pay several thousand pounds for clothing that then was spoilt by a _phone?_

~~He was trying to impress Harry.~~

He glided over to Harry and flipped over him with a smirk. “Shortie.”

“Take that back!”

“Will not.”

“You will!”

Tom laughed, delighted. “You have to catch me first.”

***

Tom stepped out of the taxi by _Heaven’s Bakery_ , the unabashedly cheesy name the shop had chosen that almost made him regret coming here. Alas, the food was far too nice to abandon ship now, and he had a ~~date~~ meeting with Harry here.

And Harry _was_ there, leaning up against the wall and smiling at him.

“Hey,” he said.

Tom swallowed, all of his poise draining away as he tried to speak. “Hi.”

“So, this is the bakery, then?” Harry asked, gesturing to the homely-looking shop, with warm lights and the smell of baking bread.

“Yeah.”

“I really didn’t think this was your time of place,” he teased. “It looks beautiful.”

Tom merely smiled, opening the door to guide them in. “I came in once, as an emergency. Then I tasted the food, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t have much choice in returning.”

The cashier looked up, smile on her face. “Tom! We’re glad to see you!”

Harry grinned mischievously, letting out an exaggerated gasp. “People _like_ you?”

He received an elbow to the ribs for his trouble.

“Watch your mouth, you,” Tom responded. “Always a pleasure to see you too, Sally.”

She thwacked him on the shoulder. “Perhaps you’ll finally accept the offer to taste test some of our latest and greatest, now you have your boyfriend with you.”

Tom spluttered. “He’s not- we’re not-”

Harry took over before he could make a fool of himself. “So, as Tom’s only friend, does the taste testing offer apply to me, too?”

Sally lit up, saying, “Of course it does. Let me call the boss.”

Harry immediately turned to Tom. “Did you bribe them, or something? They seem to really like you.”

“No, I’m just their most regular customer,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve been coming here for nearly four years now.”

“Tom single-handedly saved us from bankruptcy,” Sally said, dancing back in with a cheerful-looking man. “Boss, Tom has a boyfriend.”

Tom choked on air, face heating up. Not this _again_ , surely – he was never coming to this bakery ever again. Never.

“Hi, I’m Harry, Tom’s only friend,” Harry greeted, laughing.

“I’m sure James will be disappointed,” the man said. “I’m Rico, owner of the sole provider of Tom’s food intake.”

Tom scowled. “If James would stop hitting on me, we wouldn’t have a problem.”

“Oi, boss man!” Sally yelled. “Testing batch is ready!”

Rico clapped Tom on the back. “Finally time to try our treats without paying, huh?”

Harry was more than happy to head through into a somehow even warmer room, and, upon seeing freshly iced cupcakes, icing still loose and runny, he looked like he was about to start drooling.

(Tom was not watching Harry’s lips. Nope, not at all.)

“Tom,” Harry moaned, through a mouthful of cake. “This isn’t a cheesy name; I’ve literally ascended and gone to Heaven.”

Tom set down his half-eaten pastry with some awkwardness. “I’m glad you like it, Harry.”

Sally snorted. “Of course he loves it,” she said. “Don’t act like I haven’t seen you devouring our treats like there’s no tomorrow.” She paused. “Now shut up and eat your pastry.”

Tom obliged, choking with laughter as Harry tested his way through eight different batches before finally declaring that the chocolate surprise with green icing was the best piece of confectionary to exist.

By all logic known to humankind, Harry should’ve been full after the amount of food he’d consumed. However, when they came back round to the front, Harry was more than happy to continue buying cakes and pastries.

Tom just bought his usual lunch, trying not to grin like an idiot at Harry’s childlike happiness.

Harry turned to him, smiling. “Thank you, Tom,” he whispered, kissing his cheek. “Today as been wonderful.”

Tom was quite sure he was about to pass out (or away, passing away was good too). “I’m glad you liked it, Harry.”

With a wave, Harry slid open the shop door. “My lunch break is nearly over. Thank you again, Tom. It’s been great.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow. Nine?”

“Sure.”

As Tom made to leave the bakery, eyes still focused on Harry’s retreating form, Sally grasped his shoulder. He turned towards her.

She grinned, leant close to his ear, and whispered, “Gay.”

Tom spluttered. “What—”

“I’ve known you for years, and, as a fellow gay, I can recognise being in love when I see it.” She said, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Even if I can’t find a girlfriend, I can at least see you get together with your not-yet-boyfriend.”

Tom stared as she waved, cheekily.

He shook his head. “Goodbye, Sally.”

“Bye, gay boy!”

He slammed the door behind him.

***

_See you tomorrow?_ Tom had said.

God, he sounded pitiful even replaying it in the comfort of his own mind.

_See you tomorrow._

He bit his lip. The skate rink had been empty for several hours already, and, whilst Harry had said to meet at nine, Tom had been waiting for hours, too nervous to even run through the dance he knew so well.

It would be easy enough to run a warm-up, perhaps, skate forward and pull into a turn to sooth those flustered butterflies.

Yet Tom found that he couldn't.

He kept thinking of Harry, of those sparkling green eyes, the tousled hair, that gentle smile, but most of all, those reckless, gorgeous turns. Harry had the knack for making even the wildest of decisions, loose-limbed and untamed, come out graceful and absolutely _stunning_ to watch.

The clock struck nine.

Harry was late.

It wasn't a big deal, or anything, it wasn't like Harry had gotten cold feet at their wedding - not that they would get married, of course, it was just a comparison in the privacy of Tom's brain - yet, somehow, Tom was still hurt.

He thought Harry _cared_.

Tom slipped from his spot and skated, quietly, around the rink, no turns, no spins, this was not practice, it was mourning.

Tom _knew_ he was being ridiculous. Harry was not dead, Harry was just late to skate with him, but—

The clock hit nine fifteen.

\--it still hurt.

Tom sat down again.

His phone vibrated and he picked it up almost immediately.

_You have eight new messages._

Tom swiped them open without even thinking about it.

( _Harry, Harry, Harry.)_

_[9:05]: hey tom! i'm outside ;)_

_[9:07]: tommy, i have chocolate..._

_[9:10]: look at your phone, silly, i'm waiting :)_

_[9:11]: tom. it's cold, hurry up_

_[9:13]: we can get ice cream ;)_

_[9:15]: there's a cool ice cream place that's open really late_

_[9:16]: christ, tom. what're you doing in there?_

Oh God, he'd kept Harry waiting.

Tom was out the door in seconds, unlacing his skates and grabbing his bag.

"Harry? Are you there?"

"Tom!”

Harry was there, and then suddenly all his octopus limbs were wrapped around him.

"You took _forever_. I almost thought you didn't want late night ice cream!"

He smiled. Harry had that effect on him.

"I'll always want late night ice cream if it's with you," he murmured, Harry still clinging to him.

_He was pathetic, but it was worth it to see Harry beam at him like that._

"Come on, then!" Harry tugged him towards town, wet asphalt gleaming in the streetlight.

They'd walked for quite a while when Harry started running.

"Catch me if you can!" he yelled, darting round a corner, Tom in hot pursuit.

Harry was quick, but Tom was long-legged and lanky and quickly covered ground, tackling him into the muddy grass nearby to the ice-cream shop.

Harry had the audacity to tickle him, tipping him straight into a puddle.

Tom spat out a mouthful of mud, sat up, and then promptly pulled the mirror out of his bag and screamed.

(He did not scream. Harry was lying. He let out a manly yell.)

"My _hair_!" Tom screeched.

Harry was laughing, his own muddy and damp clothing not bothering him. "Your _face_ ," he wheezed. "That was so worth it."

Tom spluttered. "My hair is not a worthy sacrifice for ice cream!"

Harry blinked. "Am _I_ a worthy cause for your hair sacrifice?"

"There are a hundred different ways you could've worded that better."

With a shrug, Harry said, "But Tom, don't you love me?"

Tom stared down at Harry's great big puppy eyes.

"Of course I do," he whispered, mind distracted from the problem that was _mud_ in his _hair_.

"Great!" Harry said. "Because this is a date."

Tom choked on air, and, satisfied that Tom had forgotten the Hair Conundrum, Harry dragged him inside the shop.

The cashier looked rather like they'd like to sleep for a century or three but was still awake enough to ask for ice cream flavours.

"Hmm," Harry hmm'ed. "I think I'll take strawberry, as I have chocolate a lot."

He glanced at Tom. "Tom will have vanilla. It suits him."

(Tom still had enough functioning brain cells to elbow Harry, hard.)

As it was, it was a delicious ice cream.

The concept of Harry being his boyfriend, though, was much more exciting, and he barely even noticed as he devoured the entire ice cream in very little time at all.

"You should slow down," Harry teased. "You'll get brain freeze."

Tom ignored him and swallowed the rest of the ice cream and the cone in a single bite.

It took only a few seconds for Tom to clutch his head in agony.

"Argh, what _is_ this?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Brain freeze, silly."

"Why didn't you warn me," Tom whined, burying his head into Harry's neck.

"I did," Harry said, faintly amused. "You just ignored me."

Tom groaned.

"I could kiss it better?" Harry offered, and Tom looked at him with wide, pitiful eyes.

Harry pulled Tom's face off of him, and lent closer, close enough that Tom could still smell the strawberry on his breath.

Then they were kissing, the gentlest touch of Harry's lips to Tom's, tongue nudging its way into Tom's mouth.

Then it was gone, and Harry looked at Tom and said, "You taste like vanilla."

A cool breeze blew, and they both shivered.

"We ought to go and put clean clothes on," Harry murmured. "We'll catch our death out here."

Tom winced. "This is _Prada_."

"What's worse, muddy Prada or muddy hair?"

Tom stared at him in abject horror. "You want me to _choose_?"

"Nah," Harry said. "You've already got both."

Tom spluttered. "That's it, you're coming to mine for tonight."

"Am I really, Mr. Riddle?" Harry asked. "Well, I'm sure you can convince me."

"Snuggles." was all Tom said before Harry attempted to drag him back to his house, which, considering Harry had no idea where Tom lived, was a fruitless endeavour, but they (eventually) got back to Tom's and collapsed, laughing, on the eight-thousand-pound sofa.

After their laughter subsided, and they'd inevitably stained the sofa forever, Tom wrinkled his nose at the amount of mud.

"We both need a shower," he muttered. "Hey, Harry, how much do you feel like saving water?"

"Oh god yes," Harry responded, already pulling off his shirt.

He paused. "I assume you have a fancy shower with warm water, basing it off the rest of your flat."

Tom looked offended. "Of course I do!" he said, swinging open the door to reveal his extremely fancy bathroom, decked out in black and gold.

"Only the best for the Devil, hm?"

Tom smiled. "Only the best for the Devil's boyfriend. You first?"

The door thudded shut behind them, only just barely muffling their laughter as Harry attempted to figure out how the super elite shower worked.

**Author's Note:**

> You could... poke your head into my [Discord server](https://discord.gg/37bXdGW)? I don't bite (much)!
> 
> Alternately, you could pop into my mess of a Tumblr [here](https://goldenzingy46.tumblr.com/), or my writing Tumblr [here](https://goldenzingy46butwriteblr.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Comments and kudos sustain me :)
> 
> [for bribe related reasons, i ask you to go and have a look at user [alfisha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alfisha)'s fics, and they are a damn good writer]


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